her head. There was a conflagration in Dantzig: by the faint, reddish,
flickering glow of the distant fire I saw the pale face of a young
Jewess. Her beauty astounded me. I stood facing her, and gazed at her in
silence. She did not raise her eyes. A slight rustle made me look round.
Girshel was cautiously poking his head in under the edge of the tent. I
waved my hand at him angrily,... he vanished.

'What's your name?' I said at last.

'Sara,' she answered, and for one instant I caught in the darkness the
gleam of the whites of her large, long-shaped eyes and little, even,
flashing teeth.

I snatched up two leather cushions, flung them on the ground, and asked
her to sit down. She slipped off her shawl, and sat down. She was
wearing a short Cossack jacket, open in front, with round, chased silver
buttons, and full sleeves. Her thick black hair was coiled twice round
her little head. I sat down beside her and took her dark, slender hand.
She resisted a little, but seemed afraid to look at me, and there was a
catch in her breath. I admired her Oriental profile, and timidly pressed
her cold, shaking fingers.

'Do you know Russian?'

'Yes... a little.'

'And do you like Russians?'

'Yes, I like them.'